


1. Wrong Number

by WhatLocked



Series: 50 Reasons [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A Kind of Mutual Wank, Anal Fingering, Bad Bread, Changing POV, Frotting, I can't believe octopush is a real thing, M/M, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:48:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5691742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: "Called/texted the wrong person but he was into it anyway"</p><p>An experiment on Sherlock’s behalf leads to unexpected and surprising results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Planning

**Author's Note:**

> So, here it is, the first chapter - I hope you enjoy and I look forward to hearing your suggestions!

~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes Sherlock got bored.  Okay, Sherlock got bored on a regular basis, but sometimes he got really, _really_ bored and it was on these days that he was glad that his flatmate had almost infinite patience and had not moved out after realising that Sherlock was not an easy man to live with.

Today was one of those days that Sherlock was seethingly bored.  For eleven days there had been no cases from the Yard, not even boring ones.  All of the emails on both his and Johns blogs had only brought tediously simple problems that could be solved without even getting up off of the couch.  After the third email telling the client that the reason her husband was cheating, or that their grandson was stealing from them or that their dog had run away was because they, the client, were as about as interesting as watching paint dry (which was boring, and Sherlock knew this because he had done it), and that maybe if they spent more time trying to engage their brain in something less mundane than whatever it was that they wasted their lives on then people would be less inclined to leave or stilt them, John had confiscated his laptop.

So there was Sherlock, curled up on the couch, dressing gown pulled tightly around his body, while he had a sulk of epic proportions.  The sulk only deepened when he heard John having a shower when it was only five thirty in the afternoon.

As John made his way from the bathroom clad only in his robe Sherlock rolled over and glared at him.

“Where are you going?” he asked, not caring how disgruntled he sounded.  John was meant to be here to observe his sulk, otherwise, what was the point.

“Date” is the only answer John gives as he walks out of the living room, towards the stairs that would take him to his bedroom.  Quickly, Sherlock removed himself from the couch and followed him.

“With who?” He demanded.

“Carrie” John replied, not sounding at all bothered with Sherlocks moods or demands.  “I told you yesterday, but as usual you weren’t listening.”

At this Sherlock stopped half way up the stairs and snorted.  “More like deleted it.  She is that terribly boring dentist, isn’t she?”

Johns lack of answer told Sherlock everything he needed to know.  Yes, she was the boring dentist (but to be fair, all of John’s girlfriends were boring) and John usually came home a bit crabby after a date with her.  He was also certain that she had chucked a bread roll at John’s head and told him not to bother calling back.

“You broke up with her” Sherlock commented, continuing his ascent up the stairs.

“No, she broke up with me, but then she called to apologise” John said pulling a shirt, which Sherlock tried valiantly, but failed not to sneer at, out of his wardrobe.  John was positively the best person in Sherlocks world, but his taste in clothing was simply appalling.   “And tonight we are going out to dinner.”

He went to untie his robe and then stopped and looked over his shoulder.  “Are you going to leave or are you actually going to stand there while I get dressed?”

Sherlock considered the question.  John hadn’t used any sarcasm nor was he angry, so he just shrugged and sat on John’s bed, not actually convinced that the doctor would bare all before re-covering.

“I don’t understand” he said, continuing his argument about the choice of John’s date.  “You clearly don’t like her, she is dull and boring and possibly suffers from bi-polar.  She threw bread at y…..”

Sherlocks rant stopped right there for at that moment John shrugged out of his robe before stepping into a pair of grey pants and pulling them up to partially cover his previous nudity.

“…you” he finished of lamely as John, who seemed completely unfazed by Sherlock just getting a full view of his bare bum, continued to pull on a pair of trousers, before adding that god awful shirt on over his broad shoulders.

Looking up from where he was lining up the bottom button of his shirt, he just shrugged.  “She’s nice, when she is not throwing baked goods, and she’s not that boring” he said without much conviction.

Sherlock just scoffed, briefly pushing the image of Johns rather firm backside to the sidelines.  

“Fine, she’s not as interesting as you, when you are not having a sulk, but no one is.  She’s fine” and John looked down at his hands as he buttoned the rest of his shirt up, tucking it into his trousers.

Sherlock thought this all through for around five seconds before standing up and slowly leaving the room with a distracted hum, allowing John to finish getting ready for his _date_ in peace.

This needed fixing.  John was going to be bored and miserable at dinner.  Sherlock was going to be bored and miserable at home.  John would be difficult and refuse to cancel his date for anything that wasn’t an emergency or a case and if Sherlock faked either of those things then John would become rather angry and Sherlock wanted to avoid that because an angry John was a John that didn’t pay attention to Sherlock and Sherlock wanted Johns attention because he liked John.  A lot.

Not that he would tell John such a thing as the like that Sherlock had for John was not the sharing Chinese over crap telly type or the going down to the pub to do whatever it is one does at a pub kind.

No, it was the kind that involved both parties getting naked and doing physically pleasing things to each other but John was still convinced that he was not gay and would therefore not appreciate Sherlock telling him that he liked him, quite a bit.

But none of this was helping solve the problem of how to get John to leave a date, by his own volition, while also keeping himself entertained to a certain degree.  

It was as he sat in his chair that an idea came to him.  There, on the coffee table between his and Johns chair, was Johns phone.

Quickly, before John made his way down the stairs, Sherlock opened up the address book to his name and made a quick alteration, locking the phone and placing it back in its previous position just as John came down the stairs and into the living room.

“I don’t know what time I will be home” John informed him, slipping into his black jacket.  “I’ll have my phone on my if you need anything, and maybe try and find something to occupy your time, yeah.  You’ve been moping around for days.”

A small, genuine smile lit Sherlocks face.  “Already have a plan forming” Sherlock informed him and John just looked down at him, feeling somewhat uneasy at Sherlocks sudden mood change.  Sherlock ignored the look and shooed John away.

“Leave.  You’ll be late for your boring date and I can’t concentrate while you are here.”

With another uncertain look in Sherlocks direction, John gave a quick nod and then left leaving Sherlock to get to work on improving not only his, but also Johns evening to something, if not entertaining than at least tolerable.

 


	2. Experimentation

~~~~~~~~~~

John’s hand surreptitiously ran over his pocket for what seemed the thousandth time, making sure it still contained his phone.  It did.  He had hoped that by now Sherlock would have messaged, even if just to say he was bored, then John could have claimed that a case had come up and skipped out on the rest of the date.

Sherlock was right.  Carrie was dull and boring and the basket of breadsticks in the centre of the picnic blanket was making John slightly nervous.

He hadn’t gone into the date feeling like this.  He had actually been looking forward to it.  Two weeks ago Carrie had broken it off with John, claiming that he didn’t pay her enough attention, even though that was what he had been doing all evening as Sherlock was at home, asleep, after a particularly gruelling case, and then she had thrown a bread roll at his head, (which he was surprised that Sherlock had remembered).  John had been annoyed, but not too devastated, because apart from some fairly good sex, there really wasn’t much between him and the dentist.  But when she had rung him three days ago suggesting that maybe they should give it another go, he had apparently forgotten just how much he hated these outings and dinners and her taste in movies and had only remembered how good she had been in bed and had agreed to rekindle their relationship.

Now, an hour into the date, and John was bored to the point that he could not recall the topic of their conversation if he tried.  They were sitting in the park, some random up and coming band playing on a makeshift stage while others milled about, talking, dancing and picnicking.  It might have been nice, if he was with better company. 

But as it was, all he could think about was Sherlock, no surprises there.  He had been almost unbearable these past three days, and then just like that he had been perfectly content, just after their discussion about Johns date.  Just after he had completely stood naked in front of the man, even if it had been for no more than twenty seconds, but he knew, once Sherlock had sat on his bed, that the man was not going to leave him in peace.  

John managed to pull himself out of his thoughts just as Carrie started going on about the state of one of her patients teeth.  He was about to drift off again when he was saved by a rather plump woman dropping down next to them.

“Oh, my god.  Carrie, I haven’t seen you in an age” the newcomer practically squealed, causing John to wince, as she pulled his _date_ into a clumsy hug.  To his surprise Carrie returned the embrace and after introducing John to _Melanie_ the two women got into a rather animated conversation about Spain and someone called Poco.

It was then that John finally felt the phone in his pocket vibrate and he silently thanked anyone who may or may not be all seeing and all hearing for the fact that Sherlock felt the need to take his boredom out on John.

But when he pulled the phone out of his pocket he was disappointed to see that it was from an unknown number.  When he opened the message he was even more depressed to see that it was clearly a wrong number all together.

**Hey hot stuff.  Busy?**

John locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket.  Not even two minutes later it vibrated again.

**Just thought I’d let you know that I’m in London for the night,**

**if you wanted to pick up where we left off the other night.**

John mused at how enticing that sounded, but then he remembered that these messages were clearly not for him and thought that the polite thing would be to inform the sender before he thought that he was being ignored.

**Sorry but you have the wrong number.**

John slid the phone into his pocket again and set about listening to his date and her friend excitedly carry on about something called O _ctopush_.  It sounded ridiculous, but he was saved once again by his pocket vibrating.

Fishing out his phone he saw that it was from the wrong number again.

**It doesn’t have to be.**

John stared down at the phone in his hand for a few minutes, reading and then re-reading the message.  Surely some random stranger was not offering to hook up with a complete stranger that they hadn’t even seen.  

John wasn’t sure what to say in return so, hoping the other person would get the hint that John was not going to hook up with some complete random, John put the phone back in his pocket with every intention of forgetting about it all.

“You don’t mind, do you John?” he heard Carrie ask and he looked up to her in the rapidly fading sunlight, where she was looking at him with what he thought was meant to be puppy dog eyes but in reality just made her look tired and drawn.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked.  John didn’t miss they way her lips pinched in annoyance just before she repeated whatever it was she had voiced seconds earlier.

“I was just telling Melanie here that you wouldn’t mind sitting with the blanket and my bag while I went and said hello to a few friends.”  The tone in her voice brooked that this was not up for negotiations, not that John minded one little bit.  In fact, her absence would be preferable, especially just as his phone vibrated in his pocket again.

“No, not at all” he agreed with what he hoped was an amiable smile.  It must have worked as she smiled back in that disgustingly sweet way that she had and standing up bounded off, calling out “I won’t be long, I promise.”

“Take all the time you need” John called back happily, pulling the phone out of his pocket.  She didn’t reply, just disappeared into the crown, Melanie tugging on her arm, leading her to friends that were not John.

John looked at the new message on his phone.

**So, are you up to anything interesting tonight, then?**

John shook his head.  This guy…or maybe girl, was unbelievable.  Very forward.  A bit too forward for Johns usual taste.  That didn’t stop him from replying.

**Please don’t take this the wrong way but,**

**why are you** **texting me.  You don’t know me.**

The reply was instant.

**We could change that.**

John couldn’t stop the grin at the sheer arrogance of the response.  He was well and truly familiar with arrogance.  But still, this was ridiculous.  The person was obviously after something that John didn’t have.

**I don’t think I am what you are after.**

...

**Oh, I don’t know.  I think you might be exactly**

**what I am after.**

John really wasn’t sure what to think about this guy….he was certain it was a guy.  He couldn’t say why, he just was.  Maybe if he ignored him, he would go away.  John doubted that.  So maybe if he told him he was already in a relationship, he would back off.

**I’m on a date.**

When there was no instant reply John assumed that it was the end of that.  He was wrong.

**It must be very exciting if you are chatting to me.**

John tried not to flinch at he sheer accuracy of that statement and for some reason didn’t want to answer it.  As luck would have it, he didn’t have to.

**I am going to take your silence as either your**

**date has picked up** **or I have hit a nerve.  I am really**

**hoping it is the latter.**

Hit a nerve was putting it mildly and John really wasn’t in the mood to talk about his miserable evening.

**Weren’t you trying to contact someone specifically,**

**earlier on?**

If John was hoping to change the subject, he was wrong.

**Hmmm, deflection.  I guess it was the latter.**

Now who was deflecting.

**And to answer your question, yes, but I got you**

**instead.  I must say,** **you are much more interesting.**

**I think I’d like to get to know you** **better.**

A huff of laughter left John’s mouth.  This guy was really optimistic.  John wondered if he did this regularly and if so, if he was successful, not that that was any reason for John to start giving out personal details to some total and complete stranger.

**Why would I tell you anything about myself.  I know**

**nothing about** **you.  You could be some deranged**

**stalker for all I know.**

It was a good five minutes before the next message came through.  John thought that maybe his mysterious texter had finally given up and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.  He didn’t have long to ponder on mixed emotions before his phone buzzed in his hand.

**Male, mid thirties, currently in London, self-employed**

**and looking** **for something to pass the time.  You?**

Johns fingers were moving over the keypad of his phone before he knew what was happening.

**That really doesn’t tell me much but since you shared…**

 

**Male, late thirties also in London.  Currently trying**

**to escape a** **really horrible date.**

…

**Also in London.  What a coincidence.  I am sure I**

**could think of many** **ways to pull you away from**

**your date.**

…

**I’m sure you could, but I’m not generally in the**

**habit of meeting up with** **strangers who**

**accidentally text my number.**

…

**Well, maybe we don’t have to meet.  Maybe we**

**could liven your** **night up just like this.**

…

**I don’t follow.**

…

**What’s your name?**

…

**I’m not telling you my name.**

…

**What do you look like?**

….

**Where is this going?**

….

**Where do you think this is going, John?**

John froze before looking up from the crowd to peer around the crowd, although it was useless.  The sun had set and the few lights that had been set up for the event made it easy to see people close by and shapes in the distance but that was all.  He looked back down at his phone and with a  steady hand typed out his next message.

**How do you know my name?**

…

**I didn’t.  I just picked the most common male**

**name in the UK,** **but thank you for confirming**

**what was a wild stab in the dark.**

John cursed his own stupidity and then cursed his parents for having absolutely no imagination whatsoever when it came to naming their only son, yet a chuckle of uneasy, not-quite relief left his mouth just as the next message came in.

**Tall or short, or somewhere in between?**

John sighed.  What harm could it do? It was the most fun he had had all evening.  Hell, it was the most interesting thing to happen in the past three days, what with Carrie being dull and Sherlock sulking.  Without further thought he answered the question.

**Somewhere in between.  You?**

The message was instant.

**Tall.  Hair?**

John no longer hesitated.

**Light.**

The texting went on with John finding out that this man was tall, dark haired and slim with blue eyes.  He couldn’t help but find similarities between the stranger and Sherlock, but again, that wasn’t very surprising.  Sherlock had managed to ingrain himself into John’s life to the point where John found similarities between Sherlock and everything.  As much as John told everyone that he wasn’t gay (which was sort of true.  He had never been in a relationship with a man before) it was simply because the only man that he had really been attracted to had declared himself married to his work and scorned at anything that resembled a relationship.

John was pulled out of his musings by his phone vibrating again.

**So, are you sure you don’t want to leave your**

**horrible date**

Just then Carrie came back, standing in front of him, the voluptuous Melanie in tow.

“Melanie and the gang have invited us to sit with them, I thought it’d be nice.  It’s closer to the stage.”

God no.  The last thing John wanted to do was move closer to the stage and be surrounded by Melanie and the gang and it must have showed on his face, for suddenly Carries hopeful smile turned into a dark frown.

“It’s him again, isn’t.  Your bloody flatmate” she fumed.

John was about to tell her, that in fact, no, he hadn’t heard from Sherlock all evening, (which was rather odd), but Carrie threw her arms up with a “Jesus Christ, John.  I knew giving us a second go was a bad idea.”

John eyed the bread sticks on the blanket before him and stood up before they had a chance to make contact with his head.  “I agree” he said and turned to Melanie.  “It was nice to meet you Melanie.  I’m sure you will have a much more pleasant evening without my presence” then he turned to Carrie.  “It was good while it lasted, but you are right.  We shouldn’t have tried again” and then he turned around and walked out of the park, away from the people and away from the music.

He walked as far as he could before he was stopped by his phone vibrating in his pocket.

**I am having a horrible feeling that your date has**

**suddenly** **become more bearable**

…

**Quite the opposite.  I just left.**

…

**So no getting lucky for you tonight :(**

John laughed at the comment and the use of the ridiculous emoticon.

**I guess not.**

…

**I have a sudden urge to change that**

…

**As charming as you are I am not meeting up for a shag.**

…

**Who said anything about meeting up?**

John knew what that message implied.  He wasn’t a complete novice.  He had sexted before.  Just not with someone he had never met before.  Nor with another guy.

**The fact that you haven’t said no straight up gives**

**me hope ;)**

Again, a huff of laughter left John at the use of the emoticon.  No one he knew, apart from Molly, used them.  It just seemed so juvenile, yet it was somehow relaxing, knowing that this guy was so at ease with all of this.

**What did you have in mind?**

The following answer took a few minutes to come through and by the time he had finished reading it, John was half hard.

**What I had in mind, John, was stripping you down, tasting**

**each bit of flesh as it was exposed, working my way from**

**your lips, down your throat, licking and biting my way down**

**your body, settling on my knees and taking your cock in my**

**mouth.**

Consciously John looked around, certain that his flushing face and short, shallow breaths gave away to the random passerby, exactly what was on the screen of his phone.  Thankfully there was no one around.  But he was standing in the middle of (another) empty park, right where anyone could stumble past and see him.  Looking around again he spotted a gardeners shed and made his way over to it, leaning up against the least exposed wall.  He briefly thought about grabbing a taxi and getting home as quickly as possible but Sherlock would deduce what he was doing in ten seconds flat, so he was just going to have to see how things panned out here, behind the gardeners shed in a local park.  John looked to his phone as it vibrated again.

**I would start just by working on the tip, licking and sucking,**

**slowly working down your shaft, my hands fondling your balls,**

**until I had swallowed you whole**

John was actually panting now and he was fully hard.  This had to stop before he risked doing something that could see him inside a jail cell if he was to get caught.

**I am currently in public.  Maybe not the best place to have**

**this conversation.**

Even as he hit send he knew that neither of them would take the complaint seriously.  His mystery texter was far too forward and John was too far gone.

**Nonsense, John.  You just need to be discreet**

John chuckled humorously.  It was easy for this guy to say, he was probably privately tucked away in his hotel room.

Just then another text message came through.

**This is what the thought of you does to me**

John opened the attachment that came with the message.  It was of his mystery texters pelvic area, clad in light blue jeans, the fly open and the front pulled open, framing a rather prominent erection underneath bright red pants.

A grunted hiss slipped between Johns lips and his hand went down to palm at his own bulge.

**It seems you have the same effect on me.**

The reply was instant.

**Show me**

John was about to type out a decline but paused.  What could go wrong?  Neither of them knew each other, there would be no identifying shots.  Pushing away his nervousness John opened the front of his own jeans and took an almost exact picture of himself.  His cock was evidently hard under his own grey briefs, the wet spot at the head only highlighting just how turned on he was.  Before he could change his mind John hit send.

**Jesus John, do you know how hot you are?**

**I want to do so much to you**

…

**I would gladly reciprocate**

…

**Tell me.  What would you do to me?**

John’s enthusiasm stuttered, just for a moment.  What would he do?  Theoretically he knew about fellatio, and frotting, but apart from that and anal sex he had no idea what two men did together.

It was either back out or just go with what he thought he knew and hope he didn’t make an absolute tit out of himself.  A quick glance down at his jutting cock made up his mind for him.

**I would take you cock in my hand, wrapped in**

**my fingers, and slide down, all the way from tip to**

**base, slowly, keeping the pressure light.  I would**

**move my hand back up and then repeat the action,**

**slowly increasing the pressure each time.**

**…**

**I would move my hand back to the head and use my**

**fingers to rub and squeeze, running my nail into the**

**slit, gathering your pre-come, using that to aid in the**

**glide as I fist my hand back down your cock.**

John takes a moment to compose himself as he palms his cock through his pants again.  He grins as his phone vibrates in his hand.

**God, John.  You make me so hard.  Yes, I want you**

**to do that.  Please, tell me more**

…

**I’d press our bodies together and line your cock up**

**against mine, wrapping my hand around the both of**

**us and slide it down and then up again, relishing in the**

**way your body arched against mine, listening to the**

**moans coming out of your mouth as I stroked us**

**together, moving faster, harder.**

It took John a while to tap out that message as the growing pressure behind his cock was getting quite distracting.

**I would grip your arse, John, pulling you closer, my**

**hand sinking lower, my fingers slick with saliva, until**

**one was pressed up against your hole.  As you worked**

**your hands over us I would work my finger inside of you**

**in small thrusts in time with your own hands.**

…

**I would work the finger in until it slipped in easily before**

**adding another one and once you were comfortable**

**I would brush them over your prostate, swallowing your**

**cries of pleasure as my mouth engulfed yours, licking**

**your moans out of your mouth with my tongue.**

Johns free hand stopped palming his cock through the thin cotton of his pants and instead shoved inside and gripped his cock, lathering his palm in the pre-come that was steadily dripping out of the slit at the thought of long, pale fingers stretching him open.

Composing a text while he frantically tugged himself off was no easy feat and he wasn’t sure, nor did he care, if it was full of misspelled words and half finished sentences.

**Oh god/yesss id lert you do tha t**

**fukk i m nerly theer**

The responding text wasn’t much better

**yes jonjonjonnnnnn im**

At that moment John threw his head back and bit down on his bottom lip to stop what would have been an embarrassingly loud cry as he came into hand, hot semen spilling over, some of it splattering up onto his belly while the rest of it dribbling down the front of his pants.  Without thinking about it John took another picture and sent it his mystery texter.

With in twenty seconds a similar picture was sent back, the man’s slender fingers wrapped around his softening, sticky prick, a similar mess that was on John’s pants staining the red material of his own pants.

Another message quickly followed, which John checked after he had done a cursory clean up and tucked himself away. 

**So, definitely a better night out than with your**

**dull girlfriend?**

A small chuckle left Johns mouth and then something dawned on him.  Quickly he scrolled through the entire conversation with this guy.  Not once had he mentioned that Carrie was dull or that she was a _she_.  Seeing as he had just had what was essentially phone sex with a guy one would assume that John’s date would be a _he_.

Instantly John had a feeling that this somehow involved bloody Sherlock Holmes.

Opening up a brand new text thread John pulled Sherlocks number from his address book and sent him a quick message.

**I’m on my way home now.  Chinese for dinner?**

It took 12 of the fifteen minute walk from the park to their apartment for the answer to come through.

**_I have no idea who you are, but Chinese sounds_ **

**_fucking great right now. Can you get beer to go with that?_ **

John ignored the message and picked up his pace, a small ball of rage simmering in his abdomen.  He managed the last three minutes of the walk in one, cursing himself for not seeing the so blindly obvious as he tapped out another message and just before he opened the front door he hit send.

**Why do you assume I was with a woman?  Wouldn’t it**

**make more sense if I was with another man, considering**

**the conversation we just had?**

There was no sound from the flat above, but that meant nothing.  As he reached the first landing his phone vibrated.  He stopped to read the message which was, unsurprisingly from his ‘ _mystery texter'_.

**Oh, John.  What we had was much more than a**

**conversation, and again, wild stab in the dark.**

John pushed open the door to flat B to find Sherlock stretched out on the couch, apparently half way through composing another text message in nothing but his ratty grey teeshirt that served as a pyjama top and a pair of jeans.   That was all the information that he need.

“Or is it because you already knew exactly who I was on a date with?” 

 


	3. Results

~~~~~~~~~~

John stared down at Sherlock, a myriad of feelings running through his body.

Arousal, anger, betrayal, arousal, relief, fury, frustration, confusion and arousal. 

“John.” Sherlock spoke carefully and slowly, as if taming an out of control animal. Quickly he swung his legs around and raised his hands hoping to placate the rather angry man in front of him.  “I can explain.”

A humourless smile graced Johns face and with a quick shake of his head he raised his own hand, pointing a finger down at his arsehole flatmate.  “Don’t bother.  I’m pretty sure I already know your ‘ _explanations_ ’.”

Sherlock went to open his mouth to talk his way out of it but John really wasn’t feeling generous, so he got in before Sherlock could start.

“Let me guess.  You were bored.  Or was it simply because I chose to go out instead of being here to witness your sulk, after all a genius does need an audience, even when they are doing nothing but lying on the couch.  Or maybe you honestly don’t believe that what you did was a GROSS BREACH OF TRUST.”

Again, Sherlock, who had seemed to shrink back at each excuse John threw at him, (because face it, at least the first two were correct), tried to talk but again, John overrode him.

“Or maybe, maybe you really just don’t fucking care.  Maybe I have been a stupid fool to believe that we were friends, and while I have accepted that it will never be any more, as you have made that clear on a near daily basis, I honestly thought that we at least had friendship.  Apparently, once again, I was wrong.”  John hadn’t thought about any of that before it came tumbling out of his mouth and once it all registered, along with the paler than usual, shocked look on Sherlock’s face, John felt a lump of stone settle in his stomach.

Oh, fuck.  What had he done.  He needed to find a way to explain everything he just said in a way that didn’t scream, “Yes I want a romantic relationship with you” and he couldn’t do that while Sherlock was gaping at him like a drowning fish.  He needed to get away from Sherlock, right now.

“I’m going to bed” John muttered and turned away from the couch.  

Sherlock registered that John was leaving, but it took longer than it normally would because he was currently still registering that John wanted more than friendship with him.

Before he could think too much more about it he stood up from the couch and took one long stride towards the retreating ex-army doctor and his hand shot out to encircle Johns wrist with his fingers.

“John” he said and wasn’t at all surprised, nor concerned, that it had come out as a plea.  “Please, I’m sorry.  Believe me.  I didn’t mean for it to go as far as it did.”  And that was the truth.  To be honest, he wasn’t sure where he thought it would have gone, but a kind of mutual wank across London was most certainly not it.

John stayed where he was, unmoving, back to Sherlock, his wrist grasped in Sherlocks grip.  “Sherlock” he warned, but it came out more like defeat.  He was exhausted and confused.  He wanted to say more, but he didn’t know how, all he knew was that he had to get away from Sherlock while he sorted everything out.  

Tonight had definitely changed things.

He tried pulling his wrist away but Sherlock just gripped tighter.  “You didn’t say you weren’t gay.”

John frowned.  “What?”

“Tonight.  You knew I was not a female, and while you were hesitant, it was more to do with the fact that I was a stranger, not because I was a man.”

“Is that what this was?  A way to find out if I was really bi-sexual? Well congratulations, it turns out that…”

“No, John.  I swear it wasn’t.  This was just a way for both of us to pass some exceedingly tedious time.  I promise that I never set out with…what happened in mind.  It all sort of just got away from me, and then when you didn’t say that you were gay.  You always said…that’s why I never….but I do.”

It took Johns sluggish brain a while to fill in the missing blanks from that sentence and when he finally did he was sure he had interpreted it all wrong.  Slowly he turned his head so he was looking over his shoulder, at Sherlock, who was looking at him with wide eyes, nervously worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“But, you told me that you were married to your work.  You don’t do sentiment.”  

For a few moments there was silence while each man thought about the events of that night and then Sherlock spoke.

“I was.  Married to my work that is.  But I seem to have found myself somewhat quite amiable to an open relationship.  As for sentiment.  It seems one has no choice in that department and while I have had no need for it in the past it seems that I don’t actually mind it so much when it is directed at you.”

Again, silence filled the room as the two men weighed up the words that had been spoken between them.

Sherlocks grip on Johns wrist loosened, just a fraction, but the subtle movement seemed to draw John in and he took a step towards Sherlock, bringing his body practically up against the taller one before him.

“So, you wouldn’t mind if I did this?” he murmured, looking up at Sherlocks mouth and then slowly, craning his neck, he placed his lips on Sherlocks.  

For what seemed like an eternity, the two of them stood there, lips softly pressing and sliding.  Sherlock didn’t lose the grip around Johns wrist and John was thankful for this as he was sure it was the only thing anchoring him down to Earth.

Sherlocks mouth pressed back against Johns and he whimpered as the very tip of Johns tongue traced against the seam between his own two lips.  

Eventually John pulled away.

“I would very much like if you were to do it again” Sherlock replied in response to John’s question and John did.  He leant back in and started kissing Sherlock again, only, this time with a bit more passion.  When Sherlock traced his own tongue against Johns lips, Johns lips opened allowing him entrance into his warm, moist mouth.

John’s tongue laved over his and then slipped under it before his lips closed around the muscle and he sucked.  Sherlock groaned and with his spare hand he grabbed the front of Johns shirt and pulled him as close as he could possibly get him.

“John” Sherlock moaned.  “Take me to bed.”

John nodded clumsily and then practically dragged a very eager Sherlock behind him towards the bedroom at the back of the flat, reasoning that it was closer than the one upstairs.  Sherlock agreed whole-heartedly that this was a very acceptable excuse and once inside the bedroom it didn’t take either of them long to strip down to nothing at all.

“Were they my jeans?” John panted against Sherlocks neck as the final pieces of clothing fell to the floor.

“Didn’t want you recognising…trying to throw you….” is what Sherlock managed to get out in response as John took control of his mouth again.

“Well done you.  You succeeded” and with those words John pushed a smug looking Sherlock back on the bed and began to crawl over him.

No more words were spoken as the two men explored the others body for the first time; hands and fingers exploring; lips and tongues tasting; new sounds and smells being discovered.  Eventually control was slowly being lost on part of both participants and with a crash of mouths John lowered his body onto Sherlocks, the two slotting together like a perfectly carved lock and key, an arching of bodies as they slid against each other, hips pushing together, causing such delicious friction.

“John” Sherlock whispered, his voice low and frantic and John knew exactly what he was asking for.

Pushing up, making a gap between their bodies, John lowered his hand to where both of there cocks nestled together and he wrapped his fingers around the both of them, not able to reach all the way around, but enough to allow for enough pressure for it too feel so much better than either of them thought it would.

With a moan, John lowered his head down onto Sherlocks shoulder and started pumping his fist down over them both, their combined pre-come providing enough lubrication.  A cry was pulled from Sherlocks mouth as his body arched into the contact, his hips thrusting up to meet the steady movement of Johns hand.  

Once a satisfying rhythm was established Sherlock sucked two of his fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue over and between the digits, getting them as wet as possible before removing them from his mouth and lowering them to Johns backside.

A breathy moan left Johns throat as he felt Sherlocks finger gently push against his hole, and he widened his legs to allow more access, his hand faltering, just a bit, on the cocks.

Sherlock wasted no time pushing his finger in, keeping the thrusts in time with Johns hand while John ignored the slight burn until it turned into something good.

“More” he gasped, his hips thrusting harder and Sherlock obliged, sliding the second finger in next to the first as he continued to cant his hips up to meet John’s own thrusts.

Just as John was starting to fully enjoy the feeling of his cock rubbing up against Sherlocks and Sherlocks finger pushing into his arse Sherlock decided to up the game, crooking his fingers down to brush against Johns prostate.

It was that intense wave of pleasure, barreling through John’s body that triggered his orgasm and with a loud, sharp cry his hand filled with his own warm ejaculate, some of it spraying over Sherlocks creamy skin under him.

Sherlock felt the splatter of Johns come on his stomach, felt the clench of John around his fingers, heard the cry of his name out of John’s mouth and he was gone as well, his hips bucking up, his back arching as his own come spilled over Johns fist, joining Johns mess on his stomach.

With a shuttering sigh, John collapsed onto the bed next to him, his leg over Sherlocks thigh and his arm draped across Sherlocks stomach, smearing the mess even further, not that either of them cared.

For a brief moment all that could be heard was the late London traffic and the laboured breathing of two men slowly slipping down from a very satisfied, dizzying high.

“I must say” Sherlock said, his breath still not completely normal, “That was much more enjoyable with you actually here.”

John just hummed in approval, to exhausted to actually form words.

“I wasn’t lying, John, when I said that there was much that I wanted to do to you” Sherlock said after a few seconds of silence.

John smiled lazily against Sherlocks collarbone.  “And I meant it when I said I would be happy to reciprocate.”

At that a matching lazy smile spread across Sherlocks face and the two of them slipped into an easy sleep, neither alone and neither bored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thanks for reading Story 1 and don't forget to leave your suggestions for Story 2 in the comments box!!!


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